


A Guide Through the Wood

by mushroommuscle (grungerofgotham)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Gen, Getting Together, Inspired by Art, Mild Angst, Multi, Nonbinary Calliope, Other, Roadtrip basically, Trans Reani, clay fam content, ik the week in wildemount is ten days you dont have to tell me i just couldnt be bothered, its cute ok, kissing probably, not really mentioned but they are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28505292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grungerofgotham/pseuds/mushroommuscle
Summary: It takes a week for Reani to escort the Clay family back to their home in the Savalirwood.A lot can happen in a week.
Relationships: Calliope Clay/Reanminere "Reani", Reanminere "Reani" & Clay family
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> woah back at it with another rarepair lads.. anyway i saw this art:   
> https://c-kiddo.tumblr.com/post/631078760847966208/akjdnskjnksjfsk-i-just-think-reani-and  
> and my brain went.. oh,, i care them, (bc this art.. is so good) so here we are.  
> enjoy ;0

“She should have been here hours ago,” Calliope mutters, setting a jug of water down on the bench. Some of its contents slosh up, springing over the lip to coat calliope’s knuckles in lukewarm liquid. She shakes it off with a quick flick of her hand and marches the cup she’d just poured over to her aunt, who sits on one of the beds, rigid left arm braced awkwardly against the scratchy sheets.

Corrin grunts as she accepts the cup and Calliope feels a jolt of guilt at her harsh demeanour- Corrin doesn’t need any more stress piled upon her; she’s been through enough. They all have.

“Calliope,” Corrin begins after an exasperated sip from the cup, “You were a statue for damn near a decade. Why are you in such a rush?”

“Oh, I don’t know!” She throws her hands to the ceiling, earning herself some grazed knuckles for her trouble as she forgets her efforts to calm herself, “Maybe the fact that I was a statue for _a decade_! I’ve wasted enough time as it is!”

Corrin scoffs, adjusting her posture with another low, pained murmur, “What’s one more day? Hardly even a day- she’s only a few hours late.” 

“I just- it’s bothering me. I’m sorry, aunt, I don’t mean to… Look, Jester- Jester, right? The blue one? She said that this _Reani_ was trustworthy. That she was an honest woman who we could trust. She said she’d be here Monday morning, and it’s five in the afternoon and we still haven’t met this _angel_ or whatever she’s supposed to-.”

Calliope’s tirade is interrupted by three quick raps on the door. She stills at the sound. Even ten years since she’s heard it last, she can’t help but be reminded of the way Clarabelle used to knock. _Does_ knock. She’s still here. They’re all here. They’re all _alive_. Maybe Calliope could stand to lighten up a bit.

Corrin raises an eyebrow and hides a smirk behind her cup, “I can’t imagine getting what you want will keep you from complaining, will it? Let her in, would you?” 

Calliope sighs through clenched teeth, trying to let the tension in her shoulders bleed out from the soles of her feet into the rough floorboards below. Corrin no doubt watching with her trade-mark exasperation, she opens the door after a moment of feeling the cool brass against her fingertips.

The sight that greets her is a little sweaty, a little dishevelled, and wholly other than what Calliope had been expecting. The woman is short- almost two feet shorter than Calliope- so that the halo perched above her tumbling blond hair hovers about the height of the firbolg’s collarbone. The Aasimar’s gaze travels up, craning her neck to meet Calliope’s gaze.

Her eyes widen, and before Calliope can get a word in, she begins, “I’m late. I’m sorry. I promised I would do everything I could for my friend’s family. I’m sorry I’m late, but I’m here now! I’m Reani. Well, Reanminere, but you can call me Reani,” she enthuses, thrusting a hand out.

Calliope peers down at the offered limb before wrapping her fingers around the smaller, freckled hand and giving it one firm shake. “I… gathered.”

Calliope jumps as Corrin appears beside her and nudges her out of the way, breaking their connection as she gives the same hand an emphatic jostle. “You don’t need to apologise. We weren’t going anywhere.” She says the last part while shooting a playful smirk at Calliope.

“Okay,” Reani says with a blinding grin. She bends forward to peer around Corrin’s waist and into the room. “Is it just the two of you? When I spoke to Jester, I got the impression there were more.”

“Yes, there’s more,” Corrin laughs, “they’re in the next two rooms.”

“Alright,” Reani says. The way her nose crinkles highlights the dusting of gold freckles across her warm brown skin. She catches Calliope’s eye as she turns to march down the hall and grins again as Calliope averts her gaze with a frown.

Corrin gives her niece a look and shrugs as Reani delivers the same quick three taps to the next door along. “I wish I had that much pep in my step.”

Calliope smiles, remembering the first time a young Caduceus had heard the phrase and had used it wherever possible over the following weeks. But the grin doesn’t last long as Reani folds her hands together behind her back and waits intently for the door to open. 

Where _does_ all that energy come from? Yes, it might just be the fact that Calliope can still feel the lingering stillness of unrelenting stone wrapped around her joints, but the chipper woman is setting her nerves on edge.

No sooner has the door swung open do they hear a delighted gasp, “Is that a halo?!” 

“It is!” Reani responds. “I like your hat! That’s kind of like _your_ halo. One of my friends has one just like it. Wait- he’s your brother, he probably gave it to you.”

Calliope helps Corrin into a seated position in Constance and Cornelius’ room before retreating to a corner as Reani makes her eager introductions. Not long after the inevitable mess of Reani confusing their names has passed, Colton appears, hovering in the doorway and casting a wary glance around the room. He catches Calliope’s eye and twitches a brow at her. She shrugs at him.

Sensing the shift in the room, Reani spins on her heel with another big smile growing across her face. She sticks a hand out, “Hi! I’m Reani. I’ll be escorting you back to your home.” 

“Colton,” he replies, grasping her hand and dropping it with no fanfare. He continues eyeing her with that same tight expression as she turns back to their parents and Clarabelle, fielding their abundance of questions with bright-eyed enthusiasm.

Colton finds his way to Calliope’s side, joining her in supervising the chaos. “She’s been travelling for days, right? And through the Savalirwood, no less,” he begins, gesturing at her battered travel attire, “You’d think she’d be… I don’t know, _tired_?”

Calliope scoffs, “Tell me about it. I’ve been asleep for a decade and I feel like garbage.”

Colton sighs, ignoring her joke, “I don’t mean to seem so hesitant to accept help from our dear brother, but this… she rubs me the wrong way, I guess. Am I the only one who thinks so?”

“You aren’t. Maybe I’m paranoid but… yeah,” Calliope watches as Reani lifts a lock of Clarabelle’s brightly coloured hair, eliciting a giggle from the young firbolg. “But Caduceus trusts her. And Jester said she’d been through the Savalir several times. She can’t be that bad. But we’ll see, I suppose.”

Colton grunts his agreement as their parents and sister are swept up in a rapturous retelling of Reani’s encounter with a dragon, chuckling reluctantly at the worry on their faces upon the mention of Caduceus’ involvement.

“I don’t mean to cut the pleasantries short,” Corrin starts, earning six pairs of eyes turning to her, “but I’m getting quite tired, and I can’t imagine we’ll be beginning our journey today, so what’s our plan?” 

Constance softens, opening her mouth to apologise to her sister before Reani speaks.

“Yes! I’m so sorry that I did not arrive on time, but it’s far too late to begin journeying now, so I would like to invite you all for dinner at my apartment! It’s a couple of blocks away, and it’s much nicer than this place.” 

“Caduceus paid for a few weeks here-,” Calliope starts, straightening from where she had slumped against the wall.

“ _That sounds lovely_ ,” Corrin interrupts with a roll of her eyes and a stern look cast at Calliope and Colton. “Just lead the way, young lady.”

Reani bounces on her toes before turning and marching out the door, continuing to speak to no one in particular as the Clays shuffle to catch up, “It’s a bit small, especially for a family of your size. And height. But it’s the best place to start travelling from in the morning, and I’ve got loads of food and supplies for the journey that we can take.”

“That’s alright,” Cornelius says, taking Corrin’s arm to help her down a set of stairs, “we are all quite used to the close quarters. It’ll be just like back in the grove.”

“You must miss your home,” Reani says, holding the inn door open to let them file out. “I’m glad to help you all get back there after so long.” 

Calliope frowns, wondering just how much about their situation Caduceus and Jester had deigned to tell her. She exchanges a quick look with Colton before pushing the thoughts aside. It’s been a literal age since she’s laid eyes on the waving grasses and whispering leaves of the blooming grove. She can almost smell the purple verbena and lavender blooms sprouting from the Costala plot, almost feel the spongy moss of fallen trunks and old tablets against her fingertips.

No matter the unnerving countenance of their guide, and the way she sets an odd churning to Calliope’s stomach, nothing quite dampens the excitement of seeing her home again for the first time in ten lonely years.

Home is a week away.

*


	2. Tuesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg its been awhile... anyways pls enjoy :0

They get an early start- each Clay rousing unceremoniously at Reani’s urging. The night before had been rather awkward, ducking their heads through the low doorway and curling into the small space Reani had generously dubbed a living room. But none could deny the comfort of food and rest in a home, even if it were not their own.

Calliope has always valued her time in bed, so unfurling from her spot by a large potted fern is harder than expected, the comfort of green smells and soft sheets after weeks in the stale wood of the inn draws her down deeper into sleep like clinging vines or sucking seaweed.

Reani does not seem to harbour such troubles, flitting about her apartment, piecing together an ambitiously large pack of supplies for the journey to the Savalirwood. If anyone were able to maintain pace and zeal with that much luggage, it would be Reani. Her enthusiasm hasn’t waned in the slightest. Perhaps she is just like this, Calliope supposes, post-adventure buzz or no.

The trek to the mouth of Uthodurn is filled with jostling foot traffic and smells of local bakeries and butchers and Calliope is well awake by the time they are looking down across the mountain slopes. They are given little attention by the stationed guards, and with Reani’s guidance, begin to hike their way through stone and snow, catching a wayward branch or two to steady themselves.

Reani seems as at home as if she were still in her apartment, humming to herself in between snippets of polite conversation with whoever dares to speak through their- frankly embarrassing- huffing and puffing. The air is brisk and icy, and no one wants to admit how ill-fitted their loose clothes and weary bodies are to the climate.

It isn’t long into their climb down the mountain that Calliope notices the chuffing of Corrin’s boots in the snow has fallen away behind her, along with the ever-present rasp of her breath against the freezing morning air. 

“Wait! Everybody hold on a moment!” Calliope shouts, turning to climb her way to Corrin, who’s fallen more than forty feet back.

“It’s alright,” Corrin laughs weakly, “I thought it’d be easier, going downhill and all.” 

“It’s not alright, Aunt,” Calliope says, trying for gentle and achieving stern. “Put away your pride for the moment and let us help you. It isn’t your fault Caddy’s friends smashed you to pieces.”

Corrin laughs again, always one to embrace gallows’ humour, eyes crinkling as she thinks about her nephew and his weird band of companions.

“What’s up?” Reani asks, seeming to materialise out of thin air beside them. 

“Corrin is- she’s had trouble walking since the beach. I’m sure Jester told you about that? Yeah, well, they did their best bu-.”

“An excellent job, really, I’m fine,” Corrin cuts in.

“- _but_ mobility is still a bit of an issue and it’s not going to clear up while we trek down a mountain.”

Reani listens with an attentive crease between her brows, nodding thoughtfully when Calliope finishes. There’s a moment where all is silent, and Calliope is just about to ask what they should do when Reani drops into a crouch where she’d stood and plunges a palm flat into the snow, burrowing down until she touches solid earth.

By now the rest of the family have joined them, eyeing the scene with expressions varying from excited interest, to confusion, to blatant suspicion.

“What are-?” Cornelius starts.

“Sh!” Constance and Clarabelle say, silencing Cornelius, who just shrugs and peers further over his wife’s shoulder as from nowhere, a swirling column of dark brown and green erupts from the snow inches from Reani’s fingertips, sprouting luminous flowers as it grows and thickens and twists into a long gnarled shape, not unlike that of a cane.

Reani stands with a satisfied huff and cracks the cane out of the ground. It is comically tall in her grasp, but when she hands it to Corrin, it stretches from her hand to the ground like it is merely an extension of the existing limb.

Corrin gives it a few experimental taps against the ground, “Not that I needed it,” she sniffs, “but this will do nicely.” 

“ _Wow_ ,” Clarabelle gasps, pushing out from behind her parents' elbows and fingering a few of the blooms on Corrin’s cane. “I wish I could do that!” She holds out her hand, and from her palm grows a small yellow flower, its petals unfurling, leaves turning their faces to the pale glimmer of the winter sun barely visible through thick clouds. “I’m not so good yet.”

Reani tilts her head as she looks at it, “Yes, mine is more impressive.”

Calliope opens her mouth to say something.

“But that flower is very beautiful, and you show great promise. It is not easy to flower anything in this climate. Or even at this altitude.” 

Calliope closes her mouth, turning from Clarabelle’s preening and looking to the small, pleased smirk on Corrin’s face, already gleefully making her way downward with newfound ease. Maybe she shouldn’t be so quick to judge.

As they continue, Calliope shoulders her way to the front, where Reani remains leading her merry charge down the mountain, constant chatter carried on the buffeting wind about them like spring leaves on a ruddy stream. Constance and Cornelius have held back, intent on keeping a better eye on Corrin’s progress, Colton taking the middle of the pack, while Clarabelle eagerly soaks in Reani’s tales of adventure at the front.

“So…” Calliope starts, when she spies a suitable lull in the conversation, taking up step beside their guide, “Jester mentioned that you do some vigilante work in Uthodurn?”

“Yes,” she grins, but not for long, “Wait, she did? She wasn’t supposed to. That’s a secret. She told my secret. That’s bad.”

Her previous cheerfulness has all but vanished as Calliope bears witness to the unfolding of Reani’s internal struggle, seemingly at odds with the simple facts that she presents to herself.

“But Jester’s really nice. Telling secrets is bad, but hurting Jester would be bad as well, because she’s my friend, and she does so many good things? Um, oh no. Oh, dear.” At some point, it becomes clear that Calliope’s query has been forgotten amidst her fidgety moral musings, and the Aasimar shows no signs of slowing down. 

Calliope clears her throat, hoping to redirect, “What does your work involve?”

Reani looks up at her, uncertainty fading as her mind is set to a simpler task, “Oh! Well, in my dreams, Samliel shows me the bad things people do, and I go out and kill them.”

“Sam-? You do whatever someone from your dreams tells you to?” Calliope’s first instinct is to write her off as crazy, unstable even, before she forcibly reminds herself to chill out, to remember how she had felt when the Wildmother first took her hand in her own. 

She wonders if Reani’s would be as warm.

Wh- that’s an odd thought.

“Yes,” Reani interrupts her inner monologue, “If there’s someone bad, he tells me, and I kill them. It’s pretty simple.”

“Just like that?”

“Mmhm!” She hums.

“Right,” Calliope can’t quite wrap her mind around it, but she doesn’t exactly want to get on the bad side of the one person who knows their way from Uthodurn to the Savalirwood, “Oh… _kay_ , uh, well that is a very black and white way of going about things, but each to their own, I suppose.”

Calliope thinks then of every time she’s heard a stranger spill that exact phrase in response to what she and her family do for a living, how their nervous laughter often faded into a hasty farewell, how many people Calliope had been willing to trust, only to never see them again. She can’t help but ponder what Reani might think of what they do in the Savalirwood, or indeed whether she already knows? If someone were to explain to her that they return bodies to the earth and harvest what grows from them, which side of the fence would her black-and-white thinking take her to? Weird yet lovable, or macabre and dangerous? 

After another few minutes of walking in not-so-comfortable silence, as the scraggly bushes and bare, clawing branches begin to give way to green and alive and healthy, Calliope concludes:

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if Reani doesn’t like what they do. No one has to tell her. If Reani gets a message from her _Samliel_ or whatever that they need to be killed- the thought has Calliope’s knuckles whitening around her mace- they can take care of it, even if Reani has reportedly faced a white dragon and lived to tell the tale. It doesn’t matter, because Calliope has the crystals that she and her family set out for, and she won’t let anyone, least of all their weird guide, get between these crystals and the grove. None of it matters, because by the end of it, they will finally, _finally_ , be home.

*

They take dinner around a small fire, sheltered from the sharp wind by a large outcropping of rock and tangled lichen. It’s by no means an extravagant affair, made even less so by the shared pensive looks as Calliope digs the crystals from her bag and stares through their translucent, iridescent surface to the flickering fire beyond, watching the reflections dance across her family’s face. She thinks the light is the colour of hope.

The spell of silence doesn’t break over any of them as she lowers the crystal, except for Reani, who speaks too loud in the quiet of a night on the mountainside. “Those are supposed to save the Savalir, right?” 

Calliope’s chest tightens, reminded of all that rests on these few shards of glass, and before she can speak, Colton beats her to it, “Yes. We went through a lot to get them.”

“You mean _Caduceus and Calliope_ went through a lot to get them,” Clarabelle chimes in. Colton rolls his eyes but can’t hide the hurt behind them.

Corrin nudges her young niece and says in a stern voice, “He was frozen as well, ‘belle. So were you and I. It wasn’t easy for any of us.”

Sufficiently chastened, Clarabelle nods an ascent and retires to her bedroll a few steps away, followed by her parents and aunt. Colton follows soon after. Then it is just Calliope and their guide, who regards the retreat of the other firbolgs with curious eyes.

“Do you know what happened to the Savalirwood? What cast such evil upon it?” Reani asks when the slow rumble of snores has begun to chorus around the dying fire.

Calliope starts to answer that she doesn’t know, the flicker of flame in the other’s eyes alive and dancing as she interrupts. “If I knew, I would kill them.”

Calliope lets out a bark of laughter, before stifling it with a hand to her mouth. “That’s one thing we agree on,” she continues.

Reani tilts her head but lets the comment go. “It doesn’t feel good. To be so near to something that is so ill, something sick that should be beautiful and healthy.”

Calliope’s breath catches, unused to hearing their exact predicament put into such concise words. “I feel the same. Each time a new leaf turns purple, I can feel the sadness of the Wildmother digging inside me, its roots writhing under my skin.”

Reani nods, “She is like your Samliel.”

Calliope purses her lips, “If you want.”

“I-.”

“I’m tired,” Calliope says, “I’m going to get some sleep. It’s always harder to get up in the cold.”

For a moment Reani looks disappointed, maybe even hurt, but it’s quickly replaced by a business-like nod and a ‘goodnight’ uttered in the smallest voice Calliope’s ever heard from the Aasimar. Calliope doesn’t feel bad. Why should she?

Sleep does not come easy that night.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading <3 comment if you like, or drop by my tumblr @theroswellcrashsite

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!   
> I will finish this fic if it kills me but updating is not gonna be on any sort of schedule  
> leave a comment if you like or come yell at me @theroswellcrashsite


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